We'll Always Have Paris
by Melissa Davies
Summary: Draco and Hermione go on an exchange program to Beauxbatons Academy. They enter a rocky partnership to help each other make it through all of their classes; Neither of them thinks falling in love will be part of the deal.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF.. Written between Goblet of Fire and Order of Phoenix.  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Era:** Multiple Eras  
**Main Character(s):** D, Hr  
**Ship(s):** None  
**Summary:** Draco and Hermione go on an exchange program to Beauxbatons Academy. They enter a rocky partnership to help each other make it through all of their classes; neither of them thinks falling in love will be part of the deal.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's Notes:** So hi. The story that you will read soon enough is actually a re-upload and NOT a sequel of WAHP. You may find the original copy in Schnoogle under the same title and author. That aside, I would like to send my HUGE thanks to my (previous and new) readers. God knows I wouldn't be able to finish this without your support. And now, without further ado,

* * *

_We'll Always Have Paris_

_Chapter 1_

* * *

"Come in." Professor McGonagall rose to greet the second Hogwarts exchange student at the sound of his quick knocks on her the reaction his arrival would provoke, she tried to keep her tone as cheerful and nonchalant as possible, "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I trust your trip back to school went smoothly."

"Yes, Professor, my father just dropped me off, actually. I am sorry I was unable to catch the Hogwarts Express, but my father's business detained us for longer than we anticipated." Ever since he'd received the letter from the deputy headmistress during summer break informing him that he had been selected for the Beauxbatons-Hogwarts exchange program, Draco could not wait for September 1st to arrive. Two whole months in France at a different school and with different students, and, more importantly, away from that Harry Potter and his fan club. His parents were very proud. Hogwarts only sent its best all-around student for this exchange, and the fact that he was only a sixth year student made him feel even more exceptional. He could not wait to rub Potter's nose in the fact that a Malfoy had been chosen. But as he peered around Professor McGonagall, his eyes were met with a most unwelcome sight. "What's she doing here?"

Hermione Granger leapt from her chair the moment she heard Draco's drawling voice and whirled around, not believing her ears, "What do you mean, 'What's she doing here?' What are you doing here?" While they were waiting, Professor McGonagall told her that even though it was customary for only one student to go on the exchange, two students were selected this year in an effort to cultivate positive relationships between the wizarding schools. But her teacher never got around to telling Hermione the name of the second student. As realization dawned, she pleaded with Professor McGonagall, "Please, Professor, do not tell me that HE is the other student going on the exchange? Please tell me that this is some horrible nightmare, and I will not be subjected to two whole months of Malfoy every day?"

"Well that explains it," Draco retorted with an air of superiority, "you're delusional, Granger. I'm not the 'other' student. I'm the 'only' one. Only one student goes on the exchange, and since I am clearly the first choice, you're just the runner up." Knowing this obviously cleared the matter, he strolled over to the seat Hermione just vacated, plopped himself down in it, and placed his hat on the chair adjacent to him."Okay, professor, when do we leave?"

His audacity and arrogance reached new heights. Just as Hermione was about to tell Draco where he could stick his pointed hat, the deputy headmistress slammed her hand down on her desk causing them both to jump a little as the sound echoed around the room."That's enough," she said sternly, "I hope you will both show more decorum while we are at Beauxbatons, because you will BOTH be representing Hogwarts, and I will accept nothing less than your best behavior." Her eyes darted back and forth between the stunned expressions on the young faces in front of her. Satisfied that she now had their attention, she explained, "Ordinarily, each school only sends one representative for the exchange program; however, both of your applications were highly impressive, and we decided that you would both go to France."

Draco started to protest, but McGonagall held out her hand to silence him. "There will be no debate about this, Mr. Malfoy. The decision is final, and all the protests to your father will not alter it." She seemed to pale slightly as she continued, "And in light of recent events, it is more important than ever to maintain open lines of communication between all wizarding communities."

Hermione knew what she meant. It was no secret that Voldemort had been gaining power in the last year,since the truth surrounding the events of the Triward Tournament slowly filtered their way into the wizarding like the student exchange program were necessary to keep the hand of goodwill extended. But why, oh why, did she have to go with Malfoy?

Taking their silence as a sign of acquiescence, Professor McGonagall began going over the details of their trip and the details of what was going to happen during the next two months. Classes, itineraries, schedules, and the like. Their head were swimming with disbelief at this recent development, and they barely heard a word of McGonagall's Draco and Hermione each felt they had received a raw deal.

* * *

"So, how does your last Draco-free meal for two months taste?"

"Please, Ron, I'm trying to eat," glared Hermione as she glanced over towards the Slytherin table. "I already feel sick enough. I don't need you to constantly remind me that he's going to Beauxbatons, too." Dropping her fork onto her lunch plate as a sign of surrender, Hermione sat back in her chair, "And to top it all off, McGonagall won't even let us use a portkey to get there. So in addition to two months with him, I have to endure a 6 hour train ride in the same compartment with him." For some reason Hermione couldn't even bring herself to speak HIS name out loud. It made her stomach queasy to think about how he'd wriggled his way into such a remarkable opportunity. She just knew he hadn't gotten it on merit alone. His family must have done something to guarantee his place in the exchange. Hermione was still staring over at the Slytherins when he picked his fork up and caught her eyes. He did not look away. Gray eyes locked on amber. Neither moved.

From far away, Harry's voice broke through to her, "Hermione, why is McGonagall making you take the train? I thought she liked you. This sounds more like a punishment than an opportunity."

Ron nodded in agreement. "I know. I'd rather take a blast ended skrewt on a walk through the Forbidden Forest to meet Aragog than have to sit in a train compartment with Malfoy all day."

She shook her head, "I have no idea why she's doing this. She just said something about portkeys being unreliable over such long distances and with lots of luggage."

"Well, that sounds like a bunch of codswallop to me," Ron chimed in. "But look at the bright side, maybe you could use the time to ask McGonagall how to transfigure Malfoy into a ferret. That look suited him well." The memory brought the first smile of the day to Hermione's face.

The three of them laughed as Malfoy watched, still disbelieving that Hogwarts was sending a Muggle-born witch as a representative of the school. He knew that it was most likely an act of charity for her or else just for publicity in these dark days. A sort of we-love-Muggles attempt at saving face. Either that or Dumbledore's golden boy put the headmaster up to it. That would be just like Potter to ruin his chance of showing that Malfoys were the best Hogwarts had to offer. As he watched the Gryffindor Three laughing hysterically at something, Hermione tossing her thick, curly hair over her shoulder, he vaguely heard Goyle asking him something and was shaken from his reverie. "What did you say?"

"I asked what your father's letter said. Is there anything he can do to stop her from going?" Goyle mumbled, jerking his head towards the Gryffindor table.

Draco straightened up in his chair and went back to trying to eat his lunch, "No. Father said it is out of his hands now." Not wanting it to seem like his family had less power than before, Draco continued, "But that's only because it is so close to the trip. It's too late to cancel the arrangements now. Mark my words, he will be sending strongly worded letters to all of the school governors for this outrage." But Draco knew this would make no difference.

Even though Voldemort had been revived at the end of his fourth year, Draco's father did not go to the dark side like everyone assumed, like Potter had father was still well respected, of course, but people were still hesitant and apprehensive around him, as if he might take the slightest bit of information and go running to his former Master. Draco understood that people were afraid, but Voldemort's rebirth happened over a year ago. He knew deep in his heart that his father would never have willingly been a part of something as cold-hearted as the reckless murder of an innocent student like Cedric Diggory. He just couldn't be.

* * *

An anxious-looking Professor McGonagall and an arrogant-looking Malfoy were waiting for her in the Entrance Hall already. Hermione's good-byes had taken longer than she expected. She hugged Ron goodbye, and he teased her a bit more about being stuck with Malfoy. The teasing didn't bother her though. She knew it was just Ron's way of showing how much he was going to miss her not being there for two months. Then she hugged Harry, a little longer and a llittle tighter. His messy hair tickled her nose a bit, and she inhaled deeply not wanting to forget the sweet smell that was Harry. They both promised to owl her faithfully, but she had her doubts as to how long that declaration would last. She stepped back from Harry and stared at her two best friends, wishing desperately that one of them were the other exchange student. She was truly looking forward to the impending train trip even less than couldn't wait to see France again and study at Beauxbatons, as this really was a great honor to have been selected for the program as a sixth year student. But there was something unnerving about the way Malfoy stared at her all during lunch. It was so intense she forgot there was a hall full of students there with them.

The journey started out quite bland, actually, with barely a word spoken in the compartment. Professor McGonagall reviewed their day's itinerary once more and then left the compartment to go speak with the conductor, leaving Hermione and Draco in the compartment. Alone.

While McGonagall spoke to them, Draco and Hermione sat side-by-side. The door to the compartment was barely shut before Hermione moved across and took the professor's seat. She was now sitting directly across from him. This was a big mistake. Draco had had his eyes shut for the last twenty minutes or so and Hermione found herself watching him as he slept, tranquil and unassuming. He looked so different and not just in the usual "he looks so peaceful when he sleeps" way either. Hermione could not stop herself from noticing how kind the summer had been to Malfoy. His nose had some freckles from the same sun that bleached his hair a strikingly pale blond. When they had been shouting in Professor McGonagall's office, she'd noticed he had grown about 3 inches more, and his voice had gotten considerably deeper. His body had become more developed, more mature. It matched well with his face that was no longer so pointed and sharp, but smoother and softer. As she watched his jaw clench and unclench itself, she couldn't help but notice how soft his lips again, she told herself, it's not like I've ever spent much time memorizing the details of Malfoy's face God Harry and Ron aren't here to see this, she smiled.

"You know, just because you think someone's sleeping doesn't make it any less creepy when you gawk at them for 3 hours," Draco's eyes flew open as a knowing, pompous grin spread across his sun-kissed face.

Dammit, he caught me! Hermione scolded herself for letting her eyes linger too long where she knew they shouldn't. As her face flushed a deep crimson, she retorted with the first thing that popped into her mind, "It wasn't 3 hours." She looked guiltily away."It was only a few minutes." Her admission rolled off her lips before she could stop it, and she buried her face in her hands in a futile attempt to hide her face, which was quickly becoming an even deeper hue of red.

Draco's Cheshire grin spread even wider as he couldn't resist the opportunity. "Don't worry, Granger," he assured her, not even trying to hide his smugness, "I'd be the last person to tell anyone that you fancy me. After all, I do have a reputation to consider." He was on a roll. "I must admit though, I am a bit surprised. I mean, I am devilishly handsome and all that," he leaned forward and pulled Hermione's hands away so he could look directly into her horrified face, "but I don't even have a nasty looking scar on my forehead to impress you." From her reaction, he knew he hit just the right button.

Actually, he didn't expect to provoke her so quickly. Weasley was always easy to push, but Hermione was usually much tougher to crack. I must have really touched a nerve, he thought as this revelation sent a sharp pang through likes Potter, he realized, and for some reason this bothered him. Perhaps it was because Hermione wasn't the only one doing the staring that afternoon. In fact, the only reason his eyes were closed earlier was because it was the only way he knew to stop himself from watching her. It was warm on the train and Hermione had removed her school robe while Professor McGonagall was speaking with them. Hermione was wearing a short khaki skirt and a white cotton blouse. It was the blouse that did it. Draco always found these surprisingly simple garments extremely sexy on women, and he could not take his eyes off her. As the professor was going over their plans for what seemed the millionth time, Hermione kept absentmindedly crossing and uncrossing her legs as she sat next to him. She kept bobbing her right foot up and down, her leg swung leisurely over her left knee. Her legs were so long and toned. It was hypnotic. And then her arm in her white cotton blouse had brushed up against his shoulder, and it was just too much. He closed his eyes so he couldn't had felt her jump from her seat and move away to the opposite seat. The compartment had seemed chillier after that. When he had realized she was staring at him, his stomach flipped over a few times. Finally, after scolding himself for getting so worked up over Hermione Granger, he shifted back to their tried and true relationship of hostility. He couldn't help it. Damn, why do her eyes have to be so bright?

Hermione tore her hands from his grasp and leaned forward so that they were only inches apart and with steely determination retorted, "Harry doesn't need anything to impress people. And he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone, because, scar or no scar, he will always be better man than you. And you know it." Seeing Malfoy's face pale she added one last comment to drive her point home. "No matter how many people you or your precious father try to bribe or bully into thinking otherwise."

Professor McGonagall pulled back the door to the compartment and was furious with the sight which greeted her, the two students picked to represent Hogwarts' excellence and pride staring daggers at each was the last straw. "That's it!" she exclaimed."I've had enough of your petty bickering and it will stop before we step foot off this train." Taking a deep breath she added, "I was not completely forthright when I stated that portkeys do not work over such long distances, because they do. I said that because I hoped that the long train trip might allow you both to work out your differences without my intervention. As neither of you is willing to make the slightest effort, I suppose more immediate action must be taken." She started pacing around the compartment. "At the next train stop you will both be sent back to Hogwarts with the portkey I brought with me just in case the need arrived. I hoped it would not come to this end and am saddened that you fail to see the opportunities this program offers and instead choose to argue and goad one another incessantly. Well no alternates will be sent in your place, and they will meet me in will both return to Hogwarts." This announcement got just the response she had hoped for as there was no portkey or alternates or any back up plan whatsoever.

In unison, both Draco and Hermione were on their feet pleading their cases, as neither wanted to face the humiliation of being reprimanded and returned after only a few short hours. Professor McGonagall could see the desperation in their eyes. Their needs to achieve overpowering their detest for one another. Draco and Hermione were two of the brightest students she ever taught. The exchange program was a challenging two month experience, and Professor McGonagall knew that great things would happen if they would only work together instead of against one another. Their working together went beyond gaining more praise for Hogwarts. If a pure-blood wizard (and a Malfoy at that) could work alongside a muggle-born witch and present a united front for their school, then Professor McGonagall knew there was hope for the future.

After promising to behave, swearing to not argue, and offering a brand new set of quills (courtesy of Malfoy), McGonagall pretended their arguments swayed her. But secretly she thanked her lucky stars. She finally got them calmed down and seated in the chairs, and then she put on the sternest face she could muster. "All right. You can both stay." Both students breathed a sigh of relief as Professor McGonagall privately did the glanced warily at each other and then quickly looked away. Hermione dug in her bag and pulled out a large book on the magical history of France, and shortly thereafter buried her head in it not daring to look up while Draco stared pointedly out the train window not once chancing to glance at his fellow traveler. Professor McGonagall knew that the next two months were going to be such an adventure for her two young students and that great strides could be made towards forming an alliance, and then she sighed quietly, As long as they don't kill each other first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF.. Written between Goblet of Fire and Order of Phoenix.  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Era:** Multiple Eras  
**Main Character(s):** D, Hr  
**Ship(s):** None  
**Summary:** Draco and Hermione go on an exchange program to Beauxbatons Academy. They enter a rocky partnership to help each other make it through all of their classes; neither of them thinks falling in love will be part of the deal.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's Notes:** Have you noticed the new format of the FFn site? Oh why do I even bother asking? I'm certain you have. It's hard not to notice, after all. Anyway, it's kind of... disturbing. In my opinion, the former format is much better than the new one. _But that's just me_. I wonder if you share the same sentiments.

A HUGE thanks to Plumeria and netSurfer for beta-ing this for me! Both of you are _amazing_. Enough said. And now, without further ado,

* * *

_We'll Always Have Paris _

_Chapter 2_

* * *

When they stepped off the train, Professor McGonagall spotted a tall, handsome wizard with shiny black hair and a chiseled, but kind face. "Professor Lemieux," she smiled sweetly. "It is such a pleasure to see you again. It has been much too long."

They embraced like old friends, and then she introduced him to her students. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, this is Professor Stefan Lemieux. He is the Charms teacher at Beauxbatons Academy, and he is an excellent instructor." Professor Lemieux smiled, apparently flattered. "You are both very fortunate to be studying with him, even if it is only for two months. I have been trying to persuade him for years to spend some time teaching at Hogwarts, but he always politely declines."

His voice was deep but soft, as he returned her gracious compliments, "You are too kind, Menairva. I am just so pleased that the program has been resurrected, so that we can teach at the same school once again." He shook hands with Hermione and Draco, and then smiled, "Did you students know that Professor McGoneegall used to teach here at Beauxbatons when she first graduated from Hogwarts?" Hermione and Draco were both stunned by this news. It was hard for either of them to picture Minerva McGonagall in any classroom other than her Transfiguration room at Hogwarts, and a young teacher at that!

On their way to the school, Professor Lemieux told Hermione and Draco all about Professor McGonagall's early teaching years at Beauxbatons. It seemed that she and their new Charms teacher were very old, very dear friends. The two laughed and reminisced while the coach took them to the school.

Hermione was very pleased to meet such a friendly and charming professor from her new school. It was very easy to understand him as he spoke, because he had just a trace of a French accent. He pronounced all of their names slightly different, but she thought that was actually quite endearing ... Menairva, 'ermionee, Drahco. She had always considered French accents to be quite romantic.

Their magical coach climbed its way up a mountain. When it reached the top, Professor Lemieux murmured a few words, and they came to a halt. The sight in the valley below them was truly magical. Beauxbatons Academy was an impressive, dazzling castle. It was hard to hide their awe when Draco and Hermione first stepped foot onto the grounds. With its lush, green grounds and many turrets, Beauxbatons looked like a picture plucked right from a fairy tale book. It even had a moat surrounding the castle with a creaky drawbridge to add to the overall effect.

He explained to them that their rooms were in the VIP wing of the castle, which were usually reserved for French ministry officials and important guests. They each had their own room, but all of their doors led out into a large sitting area with couches, chairs, and desks for studying. He motioned for them to follow him through the rest of the VIP wing, so he could give them a brief tour, but Hermione's eyes were drawn immediately to the two large French doors off to the side of the sitting room. Professor Lemieux had talked at length about the magnificent garden growing off their terrace, and Hermione was too excited to wait. She walked over, turned the large brass handles, and pushed the large doors out. The most wonderful surprise awaited her. Perched on top of one of the wrought iron railings hooting happily was a large, snowy owl with a note attached to her leg. "Hedwig!" Hermione exclaimed. "Are you a sight for sore eyes!" After such a long and tense train ride, Hermione was thrilled to see something that reminded her of friends back at Hogwarts. This was just like Harry, who, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be separated from friends and forced to live in close proximity to foes. She raced excitedly over to Hedwig to give the owl a friendly scratch behind her wings and remove the delivered letter.

Draco had followed her out to the terrace and rolled his eyes when he spied Harry's owl waiting for Hermione. "Jeez, Granger," he drawled. "You've only been gone for a few hours. How are Potter and Weasley going to manage two whole months?" He motioned toward the letter in her hands, "I'll bet there's even a few wet spots on the parchment from where your baby smoochie-poo's tears fell as he penned some sappy love poem telling you how much he can't bear be without you." Hermione was too busy reading the parchment to pay attention to the fact that Draco had stepped up behind her.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope the train trip was OK. Ron and I have a bet on how long it took before you started reading a book. Ron guessed 5 minutes. I bet that you and Draco had some sort of row first and McGonagall broke it up by transfiguring Malfoy into a leech. That last bit probably didn't happen, but I can always dream, can't I? The loser has to eat a whole tray of Hagrid's treacle fudge. Anyway, I thought you might like to see a friendly face when you arrived at Beauxbatons. Send Hedwig back with an answer when you get a chance._

_**Harry** _

* * *

She smiled as she reread his letter, laughing at she pictured Ron eating all that fudge by himself. All of a sudden she could feel Draco standing behind her, his chest pressing against her back as his head moved to look over her left shoulder. His warm breath tickled her ear. Before he could reach around and snatch the letter away from Hermione, she clutched the parchment to her chest and spun away from him. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" she yelled. "This letter is private. How dare you try ..."

"Relax, Granger, relax." He sighed, sounding bored as he collapsed into a comfortable chaise lounge on the terrace and placed his hands behind his head. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I really don't care what your little boyfriend has to say. If I did read it, I'd probably get sick from its disgustingly sweet goodness. The meal on the train wasn't that good the first time around. I really don't want to see it again."

"Stop saying that."

"What? I really would throw up if I were unfortunate enough to read Potter's inept attempts at poetry."

"No. Stop calling Harry my boyfriend. We're not like that," explained Hermione, and then she paused. "We never have been." Feeling as if she had revealed too much information, Hermione looked away quickly as she neatly tucked the letter back into its envelope.

But Draco would not let it lie. "Awwww, poor little mudblood Granger can't get the great and powerful Harry Potter to notice her." With a trace of disdain he added, "What a pity."

The cold truth was that Draco was right. Last year she had started thinking Harry could be _the one_. And why not? It was logical they would be a good match, and Hermione was nothing if not logical. He respected her, valued her judgment, and treated her as an equal, but Hermione wanted more. She wanted to feel that feeling. The one where just the sound of someone's voice made your heart race so fast you got dizzy. The one where all the bad things that happen in a day were wiped clean from your mind the minute you saw that certain smile. It made sense that Harry should be the one who made her feel all these things. They had been best friends for over 5 years. He knew her quirks and she knew his. They had seen each other at their best and worst, and they both admired each other immensely.

She knew it would never happen between them though, because all the times Hermione had watched Harry in fifth year, he had been watching Cho Chang. Hermione knew why Harry would be more interested in Cho, who was pretty and popular and had all the qualities teenage wizards were after. She had hoped that the summer break would weaken her crush on him, but the minute she saw him on the train, Hermione felt her heart speed up. That was one of the reasons she was so excited about coming to France. She wanted a distraction. Something, or someone, to keep her mind off of Harry.

The feel of Draco's icy stare on her face shook Hermione from her reverie. "You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. We're just friends. That's it. End of story."

"Just friends, eh? I saw that lingering little hug you gave Potter in the entrance hall at Hogwarts. Friends don't hug like that."

"How would you know, you stupid git? You don't even have any friends, never mind a friend who would actually want to come into close personal contact with you!" She was yelling now. Draco always seemed to know when to push the right buttons.

The doors to the terrace swung open and Professor Lemieux entered followed closely by Professor McGonagall, who looked horrified. They had been left alone for no more than five minutes and were already staring daggers at each other. Agitation rolling off her in waves, she turned to Professor Lemieux. "Thank you very much, Professor, for showing us to our living quarters. They are positively exquisite. But if you wouldn't mind, I would like a few moments alone with my students before we get ready for this evening's welcome feast."

Professor Lemieux nodded politely. He again welcomed Professor McGonagall and her students and expressed his wishes for a wonderful and educational experience for them as well as the Beauxbatons students. He walked back through the doors, closing the doors gently behind him.

Professor McGonagall shut the doors behind him, took a deep breath, and turned to face Draco and Hermione. She motioned for them to sit and then paced before them, almost as if she were gearing up to lead troops into battle. "Tonight is a very important evening," she began. "The tone and manner you set tonight will carry through the next two months." To make sure her words did not fall on deaf ears, she pointedly made eye contact with each of them before continuing, "As a result, there will be no more displays of open hostility, no pouting, no eye rolling, and plenty of smiles during the course of the evening. Is that clear?"

Draco and Hermione tentatively looked at each other, and then nodded. "Good," Professor McGonagall said. "Then go to your rooms and get freshened up. We will meet in our common room in precisely 45 minutes to head down to the feast, and you'd better have those smiles ready. I don't care if you spend the next 45 minutes practicing them in the mirror."

Draco slowly drew himself from his chair to head to his room, but Hermione hung back to write a quick letter of thanks to Harry to send off with Hedwig. She told him all about the train ride, minus the whole _staring_ incident, and that he won the bet. She told him to take a picture of Ron eating the fudge, so that she could see the expression on his face. She told him to say "Hi" to Ron and all the other Gryffindors for her and asked him to write back soon. As she watched Hedwig fly away, part of Hermione wished she was flying back too.

* * *

It was no secret that Hermione loved to answer in class. She studied hard and knew how to respond. She could prepare herself. In class, she was surrounded by all her fellow Gryffindors, and the amount of eyes staring at her was a relatively small number. The Beauxbatons welcome feast would be different. Hermione never felt comfortable standing in front of crowds of strangers, and the pressure of the situation exacerbated her fears that evening. Most of the people at Beauxbatons had never seen a Hogwarts student before, so, whether she liked it or not, Hermione was the personification of the _Hogwarts Girl_. Their future opinions of all girls from her school would be based on her representation. The minute she walked into that room, they would all be thinking the same things: Is she smart? Is she conceited? Is she wearing nice robes? Is she pretty? The whole of Beauxbatons Academy would be watching her, craning their necks to get a glance at the Hogwarts students. All that attention. All those people. All those staring eyes, waiting for her to fall flat on her face and make a fool of herself.

Standing outside the dinner hall, Hermione nervously fidgeted with her new burgundy dress robes, trying to smooth out all the nonexistent creases in an attempt to keep her mind busy. Before the doors opened, she stole a quick glance at Draco and felt more at ease. He nervously ran his long fingers through his soft blonde hair, trying to make sure it wasn't sticking out anywhere. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it out his mouth. She smiled to herself, Well, I guess he's part human after all.

The evening proceeded pleasantly enough. Hermione and Draco had to sit next to each other, and the night passed surprisingly without incident. "Although they didn't exchange any small talk, a few of their new teachers were seated with them and kept the conversation flowing. They did, however, manage small pleasantries: Please pass the salt, please pass the bread basket, and the like. A small but unexpected surprise occurred as they were preparing their after-dinner tea. As Hermione and Draco reached for the sugar at the same time, his hand brushed up against hers. His hand lingered for the briefest of moments, drawn to her soft warmth. Then he jerked his hand away and stuck it under the table. Hermione spooned some sugar into her tea and then placed the sugar in front of Draco, who, still caught up in their inadvertent and all too brief touch, thanked her. Hermione turned her eyes away from her teacup to look at him. "You're welcome," she replied, feeling, for the first time since Draco entered Professor McGonagall's office that she just might be able to bear the next two months.

After tea, Madame Maxime introduced Hermione and Draco to some of the Beauxbatons students. There were several girls who were friendly and spoke very animatedly with Hermione and Draco. But mostly just Draco. Hermione thought she had a good grasp of the French language, since she had spent several summers in France and had even bought some of those muggle _Learn to Speak French Like a Native_ tapes the minute she'd found out she'd been accepted for the exchange program. In spite of her preparation, however, Hermione found she was having difficulty following the rapid pace of the girls' conversation. Draco, on the other hand, appeared perfectly at ease speaking with the French girls, especially Isabel. She was tall, had sandy-blond hair, legs a mile long, and curves in all the right places. Hermione couldn't stop the jealous thought, Hmph. She obviously has a few body enhancing spells up her sleeve. Draco reveled in all the attention, and he spoke with ease to Isabel about how amazing the academy was and how much he looked forward to seeing her in class. At least that was what Hermione gathered from the bits and pieces of the conversation she was able to understand. Between all the hair flipping and batting of eyelashes, Hermione felt a bit queasy. Then she felt a gentle hand on her arm.

"E'scuz me," he smiled. "'Ow are you liking Beauxbatons, Miz Granger?" Thankful to be rescued from Draco's unabashed flirting, she turned to greet the owner of the soothing voice and saw the most beautiful sight standing before her. He was tall and thin like Harry, but not quite so lanky. His hair was dark brown with a slight cowlick in the back. His smile showed off a perfect set of pearly white teeth, which would make her dentist parents proud. Her eyes moved upwards, and behind a pair of wire rimmed glasses, she spied a vibrant pair of ocean-blue eyes. He looked at her questioningly. "Miz Granger, are you all right?"

Realizing she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, Hermione collected herself, blushing slightly, and replied, "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." She held out her hand to him and said, "But please, call me Hermione."

He took her hand in his and shook it with a confident, yet tender, grip. As his face broke into another breathtaking smile, Hermione felt her toes actually tingle. "It is a pleazure to meet you, Hermione. I am Phillippe Hasley. I 'ope it is all right zat I am speaking English with you. I am planning on visiting your country when I leave Beauxbatons, so I would like to improve my speaking.

Hermione smiled brightly back at him and could feel her stomach start to somersault. The French accent just added to his allure. Feeling a sense of relief, she responded, "Oh no, that's fine. Your English is excellent already. Have you been studying long?" Hermione and Phillippe then began the most best conversation Hermione had had since leaving Hogwarts. Phillippe was a wonderful and attentive listener, who made Hermione feel at ease in this environment. He was positively charming. Pretty soon it felt like the rest of the room melted away and only she and Phillippe were left.

The sound of Hermione's laughter dragged Draco's attentions abruptly from Isabel. He turned at the sound and a look of horror flashed across his face. The dark, unkempt hair, the glasses, the way Hermione leaned in close to hear him. It just couldn't be. "Who the bloody hell is that prat?" The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

Isabel followed his gaze, and she replied in perfect English, "Oh, that is Phillippe. He will be playing for the French National Team after he graduates. He is the best Chaser Beauxbatons has had in over 50 years. He is quite a charmer." She smirked knowingly, "He seems to have taken a liking to your school friend." Then with a look of apprehension, she pouted, "That girl is not your girlfriend, is she?"

With a look of horror, he exclaimed a bit too emphatically, "Granger? My girlfriend? Bite your tongue." He forced his attentions back to his new friend. "Isabel, your English is superb. Where did you learn to speak it so well?" He was so busy watching Hermione and the Harry proxy, that he never even heard Isabel's reply.

* * *

To all outside observers, Draco appeared to be adjusting perfectly to the new people, culture, and school; but deep down he was not. And Hermione was not making the situation any easier for him. It was only Monday but every morning she was flooded with all different kinds of owls: tawny, gray, brown, and even this little mouse with wings she seemed to be calling "Pig" for some bizarre reason. And of course there was Harry's snowy owl, which seemed to be taking up permanent residence there just to perturb Draco even further. Every day since their arrival, Hermione received something from her friends back at Hogwarts, and Draco had received a total of zero. Zilch. Nada. Not even from his parents. He had watched the look in Hermione's eyes change from triumph to pity as, every day the mail owls swooped in, and every day Draco was the only one to leave their table empty- handed. A Mudblood pitying a Malfoy. It was absurd. But Draco could not hide his bitterness that morning when Hedwig appeared yet again carrying a note from Harry and Co. "Granger, can you ask your fan club to ease up on all the owls? They keep dropping their feathers into my breakfast and that deranged one that looks like a little fluff ball keeps trying to peck at my head. What could all these people possibly have to tell you that's so important?"

Hermione could sense his frustration, so she let his comments roll off her without making any cutting remarks back. His already less-than-charming mood had gotten worse after he had met Phillippe. For reasons Hermione could not fathom, Draco had taken an instant disliking to him. When Madame Maxime had introduced the two young men at the feast, Draco had just stared at Phillippe with the scowl Hermione thought he usually reserved for Harry and Ron. Hermione had waited anxiously for their initial meeting to be over; because Draco always brought out the worst in her and she was very taken with Phillippe. He reminded her so much of Harry, except Phillippe had more poise, more confidence. He actually sort of reminded Hermione of Draco in that way. Remembering Draco's face that evening and knowing that he still did not receive any owls, Hermione felt it best to not agitate him.

Not bothering to hide the sour expression on his face, Draco pushed his scrambled eggs aimlessly around his plate. At that moment Draco was thinking of Phillippe as well, but for very different reasons. Of all the bloody luck, he complained silently. I finally get free from Potter only to meet his double a few hours later. And this one's even tall to boot. I'll bet he's a wanker just like Potter. There was just something about this new guy that Draco did not like. It went beyond his resemblance to Harry. He caught a glimpse of Hermione as she stared at Phillippe across the dining hall. He huffed and tossed his fork on his barely touched breakfast. "I've lost my appetite," he announced.

Professor watched her students curiously. She had made several attempts at engaging Hermione and Draco in conversation with her the whole weekend, but to no avail. It was now Monday morning, and they were about to start their first day of classes at Beauxbatons. True to their word, Draco and Hermione had stopped the open displays of hostility, but these long silences were just as bad. She had hoped the social atmosphere and excitement of the welcome feast would make them relax a bit, but they did not. So she tried a new tack. "Have either of you given any thought about what historic places you would like to visit on our field trips?" But instead of conversation, the professor was greeted with perplexed faces. "What? Stop staring at me like hinkypunks just landed on my head. I saw you reading a book on French magical history, Hermione. You must have some suggestions to get you both started on your presentation."

Hermione's face went stark white, and she practically jumped out of her seat. Draco seemed just as surprised. "What field trips, Professor?" Hermione asked nervously, glancing at Draco. "And I don't know anything about any presentation." This was awful. Unpreparedness was one of Hermione's greatest fears.

"Honestly, you'd think this comes as a big shock to you both," replied Professor McGonagall incredulously. "How many times did I review the itinerary with you? But then again I guess it is difficult to concentrate on the details of things when your minds are too busy plotting the demise of each other." Looking stern and exasperated, she clarified, "All right. One more time then.

"This exchange program was halted shortly after You-Know-Who began getting stronger all those years ago. The French ministry was concerned about the integrity of Hogwarts, since the school not only did not identify Tom Riddle's predilection for the Dark Arts, but Hogwarts made him Head Boy to boot. The Beauxbatons Academy Board felt any connections to Hogwarts could put their own country and wizards at risk. So the exchange program was stopped.

"When the Triwizard Tournament ended in such unfortunate circumstances, both the French and British ministries vowed not to repeat past mistakes. Encouraged by both Madame Maxime and Dumbledore, the student exchange program between our two schools was reborn, but on a trial basis only. This is its first year. The program is being evaluated for its merit and effectiveness for forming strong alliances between our two communities. This is where you come in.

"In six weeks, there will be a meeting between the heads of both ministries in Paris. The exchange students from both schools are expected to make presentations on their experiences. We will take field trips to important locations in the French magical community to expose you to some of the culture outside of the school. These field trips will be educational as well as recreational. The exchange students at Hogwarts will be taking in some of England's sights as well. The information you provide will be used to evaluate whether the program should be continued, if it should extend beyond 8 weeks, if more students should be involved, etc. Does none of this ring a bell for either of you? Not even you, Miss Granger?" Both students shook their heads, dumbfounded. They both knew she had been droning on and on about the "itineraries" repeatedly, but her speeches were always right after one of Draco and Hermione's fights. It was just easier to tune her out when she did that.

Draco found his voice first, "So you're saying we each have to make speeches to some ministry officials about how we like Beauxbatons?"

"Well, not exactly." Professor McGonagall shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "The two of you will actually work together to give just one presentation." Now all of the color was completely gone from Hermione's face. They were starting to get curious stares from the surrounding tables. Professor McGonagall tried to alleviate their mounting tensions and, with a forced smile, spoke softly, "Before either of you fly off the handle, remember that you are representatives of Hogwarts during a very critical juncture. It is more logical for each school to just give one presentation instead of having four individual ones. The ministers also thought it would be a positive way to maintain school pride by having the students work on a joint project." Her voice sped up a bit and she spoke more to herself than to them, "Obviously they had no idea who they would be dealing with, but, nonetheless, you will do this project together, and you will present a united front at the conference. Is that clear?"

Hermione's head finally stopped spinning. "These field trips ... " she began. Professor McGonagall seemed stunned by her overly calm demeanor, so Hermione repeated herself, "These field trips you were talking about. It's not just going to be us right? Some of the Beauxbatons students can come with us, right?" She looked quickly over at Phillippe's table once more.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Good Lord, Granger is that all you can think about? Does Frenchie over there know about your all your little love letters from Potter?" Trying to not draw attention he said in an urgent whisper, "Don't you realize what's going on? We have to work together. On a project .You and me. Alone. Without killing each other." He looked haughtily at Professor McGonagall, "Is serious maiming still on the table?"

Drawing herself together, Hermione spat back, "I understand perfectly well what we must do. I was just thinking it might be nice to have a decent human being to talk to instead of just the self-indulged, stuck-on-himself-for-no-good-reason wretch that is Draco Malfoy." And then she smiled sweetly as Draco flushed with fury.

"Thank heavens," cried Professor McGonagall as the bells chimed signaling the end of breakfast and the beginning of classes. As Hermione and Draco grumpily bent down to gather up their books and school things, their professor knew that this discussion was far from over.

* * *

By the end of her first day of class, Hermione had a felling she was in way over her head. By the end of the week, she knew it. At first she figured it was just jitters, but she was now almost through her first week, and matters had not improved. The only class she felt comfortable in was Transfiguration, because Professor McGonagall was teaching it, and Hermione could understand what was being said. All of her other classes were taught in French, and during her first class (Charms), the harsh reality of taking advanced wizarding classes in a language not her own hit her like a bludger. Knowing she could understand written French better than spoken French kept a faint glimmer of hope alive that she could learn everything she needed to know from books. But deep down she knew her books would not be enough; listening and speaking were integral parts of the program. Phillippe would help her if she asked him, but her pride kept her from doing it. She wanted to impress Phillippe, not create doubts about her. Plus the future of the exchange program was not guaranteed. She did not want it jeopardized just because she exaggerated about her fluency in French on her application. Draco, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease in his new surroundings. While Hermione concentrated hard just to make out what the teachers were saying, scribbling notes frantically as best she could, Draco seemed his usual cool, aloof self, letting nothing ruffle his feathers. As she watched him in History of Magic, answering questions with ease and comfort, a random thought flickered in Hermione's head that she should ask him for help. I must be desperate, she thought as she shook her head, trying to knock the idea away.

Draco watched her every night, poring over her books like it was finals week instead of the start of term. He knew Hermione was the best student in their class, everyone did. But he had no idea how much she studied. Professor McGonagall had "suggested" mandatory study times for them in their common room every evening, when they would not be interrupted or disturbed. Every night Hermione stayed in the common room longer, her nose always buried in the same big book. Secretly, Draco felt it was one of his teacher's foolhardy attempts to get him and Hermione to work together. The first couple of nights he was rather impressed at Hermione's diligence. She was tireless in her thirst for knowledge, or so it seemed. He watched her twirl her hair mindlessly around her fingers, piling it on top of her head and then letting it fall about her shoulders, her lips curling in frustration. He was concentrating so hard on watching her that he never paid attention to the big book, whose pages she kept flipping back and forth, until early Thursday evening.

He was lounging on one of the couches staring off into space. He had finished his homework already, but he was not ready to retire to his bedroom just yet. Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. She looked frustrated. She walked uneasily towards Draco. "Um, Malfoy," she began hesitantly. "Have you finished your history assignment yet?" The sound of her voice made him start. It was the first time she had opened her mouth to speak to him all evening.

He looked up at her lazily. "You mean the one that's not due until next Friday? I haven't even started it yet." Then he got the same surprised expression she had seen on Harry and Ron so many times, "Don't tell me that is what you've been slaving over these last few nights. An assignment that's not due for over a week. In case nobody's ever told you, Granger, you take this studying stuff way too seriously."

Hermione was confused, "Did you say NEXT Friday? Are you sure Professor Langer didn't say THIS Friday?"

"I'm positive. I wrote it in my notes. We didn't even cover the material yet to write the paper. How could we finish an assignment we haven't even studied?" He looked at her quizzically.

"Would you, um, mind if I took a quick look through your notes?" she asked haltingly, and then quickly added, "just to make sure I'm not missing anything important."

With mock indignation Draco gasped, "But isn't that cheating? What would all your little Gryffindors say if they knew the great and powerful Hermione Granger copied homework from a sneaky Slytherin?" He quickly slipped into his familiar drawl, "They'd probably stop speaking to you for a week, because they wouldn't dare converse with someone associated with a Slytherin. Hmmm. But then again, maybe all these owls would stop zooming in and out at all hours of the day. OK, Granger, you've convinced me. Where's my bag?"

Hermione had already turned her back and was stomping back toward her table. She was visibly upset and was beginning to shake from her anxiety. "Forget it, Malfoy. Just forget it, all right. I don't need your stupid notes anyway. They're probably covered with drawings of that Isabel girl, and nobody here but you is interested in your gross fantasies." She plopped herself down in her chair, unable to hide her fear that she was going to fail herself, her friends, her school ... everyone.

Draco was taken aback. He had never seen Hermione so unguarded before, so vulnerable. A strange new emotion swept over him. It wasn't guilt or pity. He remembered reading about it once. Was it compassion? She was looking more distraught than he had ever seen her, and it just didn't seem right to twist any knives. He walked over to her chair and and silently handed his notes to her. She looked up into his cool gray eyes, sniffled a little, and hoarsely whispered, "Thank you." Her shoulders relaxed a bit and she settled back into her chair, her large glistening eyes moving over the pieces of parchment. She tensed slightly. "These notes are in French."

"Yeah, I know," he answered. "It's just easier for me to take them in French if that's what the teachers are speaking. Why? Don't you think it's a lot of extra work to listen in French, write in English, then have to translate it all back again for our assignments? I know you like homework, Granger, but even that's pushing it a bit." As he made his way back to his chair, he spotted the big book he had spotted Hermione leafing through. It was an English-French dictionary, and then it all made sense to him. He whirled around unable to stop the taunting, "You can't understand French, can you? That's why you never answer in class, and that's why you need my notes. Aren't you supposed to be smart or something?"

She jumped up and grabbed the dictionary from him, "I _can_ understand French. This is here just in case I need it." She set it down nonchalantly. "In fact, I've barely touched it." She looked away dejectedly, "The teachers just speak so fast, it's hard for me to understand what they're saying all the time."

Draco sat down in the seat across from Hermione. "So, basically you're saying you lied when you checked the little _fluent_ box on your application." With mock astonishment, Draco raised his hand to his mouth, "I think the world just might turn upside down, because the goody goody Gryffindor fibbed. What would your dear Harry think about such fabrications?" He cocked an eyebrow and surveyed her with interest. "Deceit and treachery are usually Slytherin traits. I dare say, what else have you been lying about, Granger? What other skeletons are in that pristine-looking closet of yours?"

"I didn't actually lie," explained an upset Hermione. "I just sort of overestimated my knowledge of French, that's all."

"Ahhh, rationalizations. Yet another fine Slytherin attribute. Are you sure the sorting hat put you in the right house?"

But then Hermione turned the tables on Draco. "I happen to know I am not the only one here having some problems. Professor McGonagall speaks English in all of her classes, and you still can't transfigure worth a damn." Her amber eyes peered at him with wide-eyed innocence. "That is unless you intended for your history book to hop out of the room like the bunny rabbit it used to be before you supposedly _transfigured_ it." This wiped the smirk right off his face, for Hermione was dead on. Feeling stronger about her current position, she scanned through his notes, "And what's this little doodle here on your Arithmancy notes? It appears that instead of copying down the new formulas, you opted to just write 'What the hell is this loon talking about?' over and over, in English I might add, on all of your sheets of parchment. I guess you realized that in any language, you still stink at Arithmancy. Hmm, it appears that even moving to a different country couldn't help your already shaky grade."

"So what? All that means is McGonagall's dislike for me travels beyond England's boundaries and that numbers and formulas aren't my cup of tea," he said matter of factly. "At least I didn't _lie_ about my Transfiguration and Arithmancy knowledge to get here."

"Will you stop fixating on that! That's not even the point." She took a brief pause to collect her thoughts. "Look, Malfoy, neither of us wants to jeopardize this program, right?" He nodded slowly. "Well then, we each seem to possess something the other wants."

He grinned slyly and leaned over the table towards her, "Gee, Granger, and I thought blonds weren't your type."

But Hermione ignored him and leaned back in her chair so she could look him straight in the eye. "I need help with French and you need help with Transfiguration and Arithmancy. As long as we're at Beauxbatons, we'll each help each other out, discreetly of course, and nobody has to know about any of our ..."

"Trickeries? Deceits? Falsehoods? Nasty indescretions?" he offered smugly.

"Actually I was thinking of 'shortcomings' but _nasty_ really captures your essence," she grinned.

Draco settled himself back in his chair. "Why don't you just get Frenchie Phil to help you out? I'm sure he'd be more than willing to tutor on the finer points of the international language of love." He made kissy faces at her and started making smooching noises to try and tease her, but she wouldn't take the bait.

"I don't want him to help me with this. If word gets out, they might try to send me home, and that could put any future exchanges between our two schools at risk." Knowing that Malfoy would love to see her sent back to Hogwarts in shame, she pulled an ace from her sleeve before Malfoy could dream about it, "But you won't turn me in, because I heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Lemieux that the situation could be worse. The alternate for the program is Pansy Parkinson and considering your history together, I doubt that you want to be confined here with her for two whole months." Pansy and Draco had dated their fifth year and it had ended badly. She had not taken their break up well and had vowed to win him back at any costs. He would turn around and she'd be there right by on his elbow. From the moment he walked into the Slytherin common room until the minute he went to bed, she was there. Waiting for him. Watching him. It was maddening. As a precaution, he'd even put a Confundus charm on her owl, so it would never find him if she tried to send him letters at Beauxbatons. The owl would end up just circling around France for a few days. As Draco's head spun with visions of Pansy everywhere, he realized that Hermione was still speaking, "...None of your friends to run interference for you. No other Slytherins to distract her from her one and only mission in life: To get you back as her boyfriend. Although I have no idea why. She must be in need of some serious mental health charms."

"Point taken. But tell me this: will you tell Potter and Weasley about this or can I be the one to spill the beans?"

"No, I am not telling them and neither will you." She spelled it out for him, "If you tell anyone about your tutoring me in French, then that would mean you would also be admitting you asked for help in two very important subjects. And from a muggle-born witch at that!" She closed her eyes and said in a higher voice than normal, "Oh, I can picture it now, 'Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I did indeed tutor your pure-blooded son in Transfiguration. I agree, Mr. Malfoy, I was surprised myself, since, being muggle-born and all, I hadn't even heard of Transfiguration before Hogwarts and Draco was surrounded by it his entire life. And yet somehow I am better at it than he is. It's funny, isn't it?'" She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest, her voice back to normal. "So what's it going to be, Malfoy? The choice is all yours, but I think you'll agree that my way is definitely more prudent for both of us."

He contemplated it for a moment, "Not much of a choice, is it?" He pictured his father's disappointed and shamed expression. "But this is better than the alternatives." He stuck his hand across the table. Feeling like she just made a deal with devil, Hermione hesitated, but then she reached across and took his hand in hers. "Did it just get colder in her?" he asked honestly.

She considered it, but hadn't noticed any change. "No. Why?"

His eyes twinkled, "Because I think hell just froze over."

A smile escaped Hermione's lips as she slowly pulled her hand away to gather up all the notes so they could get to work. But first, the question she had been dying to ask: "Malfoy, just where did you learn to speak such excellent French?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "One of my nannies when I was little was from France. She taught me until I came to Hogwarts. Once I started school, I asked Father if she could come back in the summers to give me additional help."

Hermione laughed. "Well, who would have thought Draco Malfoy would do extra studying all on his own in the summer? I never would have guessed that."

His voice oozing with sarcasm, he cried, "What? I crave knowledge, Granger. Learning fills my soul. It is my only reason for existence." Then a lascivious smile spread across his face, "Plus, you've never seen Brigitte. She had the biggest set of ..."

"All right, all right. I don't need to hear all the tawdry details of your prepubescent existence. Let's just get started, OK?" Hermione pulled out a new piece of parchment and her quill, ready to study. She smiled softly, the tension having lifted a bit, and Draco laughed slightly, feeling more at ease as well.

And so began a fragile détente between two fierce enemies. Born not of goodwill and desire for peace, but of pride and need.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Do you know__..._

That the words 'blond' and 'blonde' are different? A 'blond' refers to a male whereas a 'blonde' refers to a female. I don't know if it's general knowledge or anything but I just heard (or read, in my case) of it recently...

_Leave a review before you go, please. Thank you very much for reading. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

_We'll Always Have Paris_

_Chapter 3_

* * *

They had been in France for only two weeks, but Hermione was already doing something with Draco she never would have dreamed ... laughing. She did not know if it was because she drank too much of Draco's own brew of Peppered Up Pumpkin Juice (to keep them awake), because it was already past midnight, or because his imitation of Pansy Parkinson was spot on. For whatever reason, Hermione Granger found herself doubled over in a fit of laughter with Draco Malfoy howling along side her. If another Gryffindor or Slytherin had walked in at that moment, he or she would have assumed their classmates were obviously under the Imperius curse, because a Malfoy never laughed with a Mudblood.

It had all started early on Thursday evening. It was toward the end of their second week at Beauxbatons Academy, and Draco and Hermione had both retreated to the VIP common room after dinner to prepare for Friday's lessons. They had barely touched their food, because they had so much work to do. They had to finish up their 30-inch History papers on the Lacavalier Treaty of 1490, which banned the use of Drop-Off charms used on sailors to convince them their boats would drop off the end of the earth if they sailed too far. In addition, on Tuesday, the Herbology teacher, Professor Guerin, announced there would be a practical lesson on Friday on the names, characteristics, and uses of all the flowering plants from chapters 1-5 in their Herbology texts. Draco agreed to help Hermione with the History paper, and Hermione promised to help Draco memorize the information for the Herbology lesson.

It was already past 9 PM, and their progress was slower than a flobberworm race. They had each drunk about a gallon of Draco's hyped up pumpkin juice already, and the effects of it were more pronounced since they had eaten very light dinners. Hermione could not decipher Draco's handwriting, so he essentially had to read the notes to her, which ate up precious time. Plus he had to finish his own scrolls, which he hadn't bothered to start until that night. Hermione continually interrupted Draco's thoughts, interjecting with questions and comments on the cruelty and purpose of the treaty. "The indigenous wizards of the new land planted horrible visions in the minds of those young men and their families just to keep the knowledge of their people a secret. How many sailors died when they jumped from the boats, because the wizards trained their dragons to fly out over the sea?" Hermione's voice rose with excitement as she imagined the poor muggle sailors meeting awful deaths.

Draco made some strong, logical arguments. "Look at what happened after the Lacavalier Treaty. Explorers traveled to the new world and took everything from the rightful wizards. Using magic to retaliate against muggles was outlawed by then. It is a miracle more wizards didn't die." Draco looked quizzically at Hermione as she pondered his statements. He could see the wheels turning in her head, whipping up a well thought out comeback to plead her case. Licking her ruby-colored lips slowly, she furrowed her brow in concentration. Draco was half expecting a severe tongue lashing from her, but instead of responding, she tilted her head back to stretch her neck. He guessed it was a stall tactic to gather her thoughts, but he would not be distracted by her feminine wiles. This was no point to lose his resolve. He was actually beating her in an argument. He had many female acquaintances who tried to use their femininity to distract him. Isabel and Pansy fell into this category. In fact, both of them had tried this same ploy on him, with little result. But Hermione was different. She didn't even seem conscious of the effect it had on him, which made her even more beguiling. Trying to ease the strain from craning her neck over their books for so long, she began to rub her long, supple neck with her smooth, graceful hands. Time seemed to slow as he watched her hands move back and forth, back and forth. Snap out of it! A little voice in his head screamed. You're finally winning. Don't blow it just because you'd rather be the one doing that to her neck instead of just watching. You have a business arrangement with her, and business it must stay.

Time reverted to its normal pace, and Hermione stopped rubbing her neck. He knew her brief pause had given her time to formulate a valid point in their debate, but he was not about to let the balance of power shift. He needed to keep the upper hand, so he decided a change of subjects was in order. "Granger, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were enjoying this little spat of ours," Draco proposed. "Surely there must be at least one person in that house of do-gooders who can supply some quality debate material. Don't any Gryffindors ever debate with you?"

Hermione did not want to admit it to Draco, but the truth was, aside from the SPEW movement, no one ever seemed to challenge her opinion, especially when it came to homework. She was Hermione Granger, top student and class know-it-all; therefore, they assumed, she must be the authority in every academic subject. They always went to her with their questions when it came to schoolwork, and figured Hermione had read all of the books, so she knew the answers. Tonight's debate with Draco was the first time in a long while where someone challenged her opinion on an academic matter. It felt good. He made her work a little and she really had to think before formulating her arguments, since she knew Draco would be ready to pick them apart point for point.

But she would never let him know this. "It's really such a shame, Malfoy," she started, but her tone was not malicious. "Slytherin House has all the great minds. Take Crabbe and Goyle, for instance. I heard the Ministry Think Tank has already cleared two spots in anticipation of their graduation from Hogwarts." Hermione could see the laughter behind Malfoy's eyes as he imagined such an event. Getting Crabbe and Goyle to form a coherent sentence was a stretch on a good day. Future Think Tank-ers they were not.

Although he tried to repress it, a small smile started forming in the corners of Draco's mouth. He put his hand over his mouth to attempt to cover it up, but it was too late. Hermione saw his eyes twinkle and lowered her voice, "Duh, uh, yeah Minister, I looked at that paper, and I was thinking ... I was thinking ... Um. I forgot what I was going to say." Hermione started giggling, causing Draco's grin to break free. The transformation on his face was amazing. Hermione was struck by how warm and lighthearted Draco looked when he laughed. Before this, Hermione had only witnessed sneers and malevolent smirks form on his lips. She had never realized how a person's appearance could change so quickly. His gray eyes glistened as his skin pinked up from his first bout of genuine laughter in weeks. He wore it well.

Draco disturbed Hermione's increasingly flattering observations of him when, in between laughs, he said, "Which one was that supposed to be? Goyle?"

Hermione peered at him with mock surprise. "You mean there's a difference between them?" This made Draco laugh even harder.

Once his laughs subsided, he remarked to Hermione, "Know what's weird, Granger? Your impression wasn't even that good. I don't know why I laughed so hard."

"Everybody needs to let off some steam every once in a while, even pompous gits like you, Malfoy," Hermione replied with a grin.

Eventually both students calmed down and their fits of laughter disappeared. With the atmosphere lightened considerably, they drank some more of the pumpkin juice and started in on their Herbology assignment. Hermione had suggested using word association techniques for memorizing the flora information, which might have worked if it had not been near midnight when both of them were exhausted and getting silly.

Hermione told Draco when she studied, she sometimes took an object or term and related it to a person or thing already familiar to her. Relating something new to something old triggered recognition of the information. For instance, Sofroes were fluffy, high maintenance plants, which made humans irritable and grouchy if ingested. These reminded Draco of his great-grandmother's toy poodle, Sasha. Another type of plant, Aquatarae, had long, plush blue flowers, which were found in warm areas and used in calming potions. These plants reminded Draco of a trip he took to the Mediterranean. As the night wore on, these innocuous associations gave way to inane and goofy connections, usually related to people they both knew.

"What?" Draco asked in a surprised tone. "Granger, you can't sit there and tell me Longbottom doesn't look like a Bulbous Bufura. It says right here, 'Bufura tend to tip over repeatedly if they are not firmly tied to growing sticks.' I just call 'em like I see 'em, Granger."

Hermione laughed so loud she thought she would wake the castle, because even before Draco mentioned her friend, a mental picture of Neville tripping down the steps floated before her eyes. "Stop picking on us Gryffindors, Malfoy," she commanded but her voice was friendly. She had moved from her place on the floor and was now sitting on the same couch as Draco. "Not every plant in this book could possibly only remind you of my school mates."

He cocked one of his eyebrows, "Really? Who's the one that suggested the Spit Fire Aurora reminded her of Weasley? Not I. Was it Granger? Yes, I think it was." Hermione chuckled at Draco's one-man conversation.

"Well that was an obvious one," she reasoned. "He's fiery, hot-headed, easily aggravated, and, oh yeah, he's got flaming red hair." She was smiling as she reached across and grabbed Draco's notes from him. She looked down the list he had written of plants and his ways to remember them and said, "You've associated all the plants with negative attributes to Gryffindors. That's not fair. And what about the Florander? You can't ask anyone with half a brain to believe Snape reminds you of a pearly white flower used to make beautifying potions."

Draco had turned so he could face her and rested his right arm across the back of the couch. He reasoned, "Florander is also used for memory retention potions, and Professor Snape is one of the smartest wizards I've ever met. Besides, I didn't associate all Gryffindors with bad plants. I said that Parvati girl reminds me of the Pink Frangolias. They're used for Happiness Potions. That's not a 'negative' association." Before Hermione admitted that she had indeed forgotten about that one, he opened his mouth again. "Plus they're from tropical climates and that girl is hot! She's got that exotic-looking thing going on."

Her mouth agape in mock outrage, Hermione flung her thick Herbology book across the couch and it landed with a thud in Draco's lap. "It figures you'd say something like that."

"Hey, you asked," he replied with a grin. He felt so relaxed. He didn't think he ever felt so comfortable in his life, and definitely not with this girl. _I really should stop drinking that juice_.

Hermione looked intently at Draco's list in her hands. "Malfoy," she said. "There's one glaring omission from this list. One name I was certain you would have mentioned." Draco looked up at her, wondering what name she would drop on him. She peered over the top of his parchment and smirked, "I think Pansy would be very upset if she knew she weren't represented anywhere here on your list of plants."

Relieved that Hermione had not mentioned the other person, whose name began with a "P," Draco tossed his head back and exclaimed, "Pansy! Get serious? I reserved most of the really nasty plants for Gryffindors, and even though Pansy is annoying and too clingy for my taste, there's something to be said about House pride. I already know which flower she would have expected me to say." Anticipating Hermione's next question, he opened her book on his lap and showed her a page of large mauve colored flowers with velvety soft petals. "The Lufulicas are very rare but highly sought-after flowers, which were used in many love potions before they were banned. Their scent is so pleasing and alluring, that even if unmixed with any other ingredients, when a person inhales too deeply, he or she may actually feel like they drank a mild love potion. Pansy would want me to associate Lufulicas with her, but I wouldn't need any help remembering these flowers." He looked quickly away from Hermione. "But I suppose if I had to pick a plant or flower to remind me of Pansy, it would be a Mundolo."

"A Mundolo Why? They are very useful in many medicinal potions," Hermione wondered.

Draco smirked, "But they are also very prickly, have a funny odor, and they are the main ingredient in one of Zonko's best selling brews: the Chatterbox potion." Draco cleared his throat, pointed his nose way up high, and began to speak in a high, shrill voice, "Oh Draco, aren't my new dress robes just lovely, and my new shoes too. Mother paid 75 galleons for just the shoes. Can you believe it? And how about these new clips for my hair. Don't they make my blond curls even bouncier?" He continued his Pansy impersonation for a few minutes.

Tears rolled freely down Hermione's face while Draco transformed into Pansy Parkinson. He not only had the pitch and tone of her voice down perfectly, but his hand motions and gestures were purely Pansy. It was uncanny. Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco spoke again in his normal voice, "I mean, who cares if her curls bounce? I must have missed the lesson where they told us new clips and curly hair make you a better wizard."

Hermione could scarcely breathe, but she finally managed to squeak out, "Stop it, Malfoy. I think my stomach's going to burst from laughing so much. You don't have to convince me. Pansy is definitely not a Lufulica."

Overcome by an uncontrollable case of the giggles and sick of studying plants for 3 straight hours, Hermione acted impulsively for perhaps the first time in her life. She took the Herbology book from Draco's hands and tore out the page with the Lufulicas on it. She ripped the page into tiny pieces and threw them into the air, laughing joyously. As the many pieces slowly trickled down, some of it landed in her hair. She burst into a fit of giggles. Draco roared with laughter when he saw Hermione rip the page out and tear it into pieces. As the pain in his side gave way, he looked over at her. She looked so natural and carefree. The sight of her took his breath away. The light from the fire illuminated her face, and she radiated warmth. Draco felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. As the light danced across her, the golden flames made her hair shine like honey.

As Hermione started to calm down, she reached her hands up and was trying to free some stray bits of parchment, which had nestled into her long curly tresses. But she was having difficulty finding them all. Hesitant, but wanting to drink in her warmth by any means necessary, Draco slowly reached up and moved his hand toward her face. Neither of them felt like laughing now. Draco paused briefly, as if to ask her permission to get so close. Her eyes fixed on his, and she did not turn away from him. His eyes moved up slowly until they rested on a lucky bit of parchment trapped in her soft tresses. His hand followed his gaze, but as he gently freed the paper his eyes once again fell down to meet hers, which had not moved at all, as if expecting to meet his again.

Hermione did not take a single breath from the moment Draco's eyes met hers. He was so gentle, so tender. Any breath or sound would ruin it. When his hand neared her, she felt her body grow warmer. She knew she was sitting by a fire, but Hermione suspected the heat had little to do with the flames. When Draco touched her hair and moved his eyes to meet her gaze again, she felt her heart beat faster.

Draco didn't think about what he was doing. For once in his life, he didn't calculate the potential outcomes and weigh his options. He had no idea why he was doing this, but he didn't care. He brought his hand down further, but instead of lowering it by his side, Draco brushed his fingers across her face. He cupped her face and gently rubbed his thumb across her cheek. Somewhere deep inside, Draco knew he should not touch her, but how could he not? Her hair smelled so sweet. Her skin looked so soft and smooth. He needed to see if it felt as good as it looked. Ever since their train ride, Draco could not stop wondering what being so close to her would feel like, what touching her would feel like. He knew he should stop right there. His head told him to stand up and walk away, but moving away seemed wrong. If anything, he needed to move closer.

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione reached up and closed her hand over Draco's. Her hand was as steady as his when they touched, but both of their heads were spinning. Draco's gaze moved down to her lips, and Hermione licked them nervously. They were sitting so close on the couch, Hermione was certain Draco could hear her heart thumping in her chest. But it made more of a tapping sound. She could hear it in her own ears. First, it was soft, but it kept growing louder. Tap, tap, tap. TAP, TAP, TAP. Then she realized the sound wasn't coming from inside her; it was coming from outside on the terrace.

With a slight jump, Hermione pulled her hand from Draco's. She whispered, "Do you hear that tapping sound? It sounds like it's coming from outside."

Realizing how close their faces were, Draco moved quickly to his side of the couch. He cleared his throat loudly and starting nervously running his fingers through his blonde hair. He hadn't heard anything over the throbbing pulses of his own rapid heartbeat, but now that he was at a safe distance, he could hear it too. Sure enough, there was definitely something tapping outside.

Drawing their wands, Draco and Hermione rose and went to the terrace door. Hermione opened it and a large, regal-looking owl flew briskly into their common room. Completely surprised, Draco exclaimed, "Midas!" The owl flew directly to Draco and perched itself on a nearby table so he could untie the rolled up letter with the green ribbon attached to its leg. Looking somewhat flustered by the events of the past 60 seconds, Draco hastily explained to Hermione, "Midas is our family owl. He's brought a letter from my parents."


End file.
